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Hostile Takeover
Laim was utterly and clearly bored. As the others debated and insulted, he tapped his green clawed fingers on the prismachrome table, waiting. Surrounded on all sides by sycophants, ex-merchants, and weapon-men, he was the only space pirate. They were seven, in total, but now only numbered six, lacking their Chairman, Oberjean. As usual without him, the Board was stalemated. The debate was something about expansion, which Laim always found boring up until the slaughter began. United, they were the Board of the Planet Trade Organization, but now they seemed more like a bickering marriage. Laim took a sip of his iced tea, watching the room. Tangarin, the orange weapons-master of the Corducian Belt and fellow Sitrucian to Laim, would have launched himself against the table towards the mercantile and more peaceful Parr, a rotund Arboreant. The only thing stopping Tangarin was his twin and devout warrior, Mandarin, grabbing his shoulder. Mandarin would have been a perfect resemblance to the skinny fellow, if not for the fact he was three times his scrawny brother's size. "We cannot remain on the fringes for much longer," said the weapons-master, his orange cheeks slowly turning darker in frustration, "The Organization must go to the core and seek out victories in order to gain respect." "And when we run out of the wealthy planets, who will buy our conquests? Who will pay our tolls and our tithes?" said the long-headed Parr, looking at Tangarin with nothing but contempt, as if he had spouted defecate directly into the merchant's face. "There will always be more planets," said Tangarin, "And always new customers!" "Tangarin is right," said Kachu, the red ex-commander. He was all that remained of the PTO before Oberjean, having served as a general for them before turning sides towards the future Chairman. The general was dutiful and young for his numerous prestiges. Laim wouldn't say he was intelligent, but he had the cleverness that politicians had. He continued, with his accented and deep voice, "We have to strike fear in the Core, so they will pay the highest in auctions. Fear is power." "No, money is power," argued Parr, "War is bad for business! We expend too much on the core worlds, we lose the control over the farthest reaches. Already, Planet T-023 - in your domain, Tangarin - is being overrun by native insurgency." "It is nothing more than couple dozen fish-men! Dust compared to the strength of my fleets," Tangarin hissed. Laim looked over his body language as he sipped from his drink, witnessing the Tangarin shiver, the tiniest bit, in uncertainty. "Enough," stated the Deputy Chairman Mulbar, a noted ship architect, while scratching his furry chin and rhythmically blinking his three eyes, "We should take a vote! All in favor of continuing on the outer fringes?" Parr, Mandarin (to the disgust of his brother), and, lastly, Mulbar raised their hands. Mulbar sighed, "All opposed?" Tangarin, Kachu, and, halfheartedly, Laim raised their hands. Parr shook his head, "Come on…" "Ahem," Mulbar, scrunching up his apelike face, "We are, once again, at a stalemate. We will require the tie-breaking vote of Chairman Oberjean." "Where is the old fool?" muttered Tangarin to his brother, who shrugged his shoulders in confusion. "I suppose we will have to wait," said Mandarin, keeping his calm and massive frame scrunched into the tiny chair. The conference room's sole door swooped open. Parr, without looking, greeted it. "Ah, Chairman, nice to-" Parr finally looked over, seeing what was there instead of the Chairman. It was taller than Mandarin, already massive, by at least a head. The massive being, with bull-like black horns and a blue gem where the scalp would be, had to duck in order to enter the room. With muscled purple flesh and eyes that pierced into the soul, Laim instantly recognized him. He was Cold, a pirate king who had ruled the outer territories for generations, having earned it in combat from his father, as his father had and his father before him. He had fought with him, killed with him, and, at one point, would have died for him. Under Cold's arm was a simple black cube, a carrying case that had some weight to it. The board turned, confused, unknowing of what was before them. Kachu looked the thing up and down, trying to judge what he was. Mulbar spoke, confused, "I wasn't aware we were having guests." "None of us were," Laim replied, "Gentlemen, may I introduce you to King Cold, pirate menace of the northron reaches. We used to run together, he and I." "It's been a while, hasn't it?" Cold chuckled, revealing pristine white teeth. "I suppose it has," Laim laughed, recalling the time they purged Planet Gordo and the way those natives popped.. "Oh, oh, yes!" Tangarin said, finally recalling, "In fact, weren't you offered a position at this very table? In another world, you would have found this man a fellow debater!" Parr looked intrigued and put on his best smirk, "It would be an honor arguing with another space pirate on this board, I suppose." The Sitrucians, beside Laim, laughed at the joke, but Kachu guffawed before speaking, "You've got it wrong, Parr. If he were on the board, you'd never had been offered the spot." That got the whole table, besides Parr, to laugh, even the old Mulbar. "Why didn't you take it, Cold?" Laim asked. "Why did you?" Cold retorted. "I had a family to feed," Laim stated, "That's why I'm here." "Well, I've got one, too, now. That's why I'm here," Cold stated, with seriousness. "Heh, well," Parr cleared his throat, "Any reason for the visit, Cold?" "I came here to become the supreme and permanent leader of the Planet Trade Organization." That got Parr to laugh and several others at the table, but Kachu simply glared at him suspiciously and Laim took a sip of his iced tea. "You realize that requires a unanimous vote of the board? And why should we do it?" Tangarin asked, chuckling at the idea. King Cold turned the box, to reveal a purple square button. With his pointer finger, he pressed it, leading to the top of the cube to open. As he held the box with his right, with his left he grabbed what was inside the box and tossed it on the table. Mulbar's reeled back, jumping from his chair as he saw the wizened and aged head of Chairman Oberjean hop onto the table, bouncing once before landing on its side, the green blood pouring out of where its neck would be. The blue skin, horns, and white hair could have identified it as no one else. The rest of the board's eyes widened, and the larger of the twins, Mandarin, rose, as the lesser pushed his chair back. Kachu watched the head of Oberjean, his ally, intently, shell-shocked. Laim lifted his iced tea from the table, hovering his other hand over his plasma pistol under the table. Parr looked at King Cold, staring deep in the eyes of the pirate king, mouth agape. "That's why you came here? To-to intimidate us?" Parr said, in disbelief. "No," Cold said, with a smirk. He raised his hand, pointing his finger at him, to the merchant's confusion. Like lightning, a beam emerged instantaneously from its tip, piercing through the heart of Parr like a spear. "Dear stars," exhaled Mulbar, his three eyes opened as far as they could. Parr unwillingly expulsed blood from his mouth, glancing around the room, flopping and pleading through pained gurgles. After a few seconds, he collapsed into the back of his chair. The King continued. "I came here to see you kneel or, should you not, to see you die." Kachu pushed his chair back, away from the pulsating corpse of Parr, knocking himself into Laim and nearly spilling his iced tea. Laim continued to hover his hand over his pistol. Mulbar began to scream, only for Tangarin, to the right of him, to cover his mouth. Mandarin moved to stand behind his smaller brother, to provide an intimidating presence. Mandarin moved to speak, raising his hand to quiet the rest. "Alright, we get it. You've killed them. You created a vacancy, you earned our fear. We'll give you the unanimous vote. You deserve the chairmanship-" "Supreme leadership," Cold smugly corrected. "Fine. Now, we are at your mercy," the larger twin said, to a visual outburst from his other half, "And we just have to ask what you want. We'll grant you your wishes, give you what you want." "And what exactly do you want?" Tangarin questioned, interrupting his brother. Mandarin looked toward him with a confused look in his eye. King Cold chuckled, then burst-out laughing. "What do I want? That's what you're asking? I want what a pirate king always wants: Everything." This response created hullabaloo among the board, whispering and debating about it, before Tangarin rose, angered. His orange hands, scaled and clawed, were balled into fists. "We get it. You can kill these fools, right? Because they're nobodies outside of here. They don't have real power. A merchant, rich, sure, but no guns. The Chairman of the PTO, old and weak. They aren't anything. They have possess no armies, have no planet-busters. Guess what, buddy, I do. My brother does. We command the largest fleet with the most weaponry this side of the galaxy. You can't just kill us. You can't do anything, because our legacy would be your death. You want to be the leader of the Planet Trade Organization? Fine, but you can't stop me from leaving." Tangarin moved to walk towards the door, but found a grip, massive and uncompromising, tighten around his orange-scaled throat. King Cold lifted him into the air, looked him in the eyes, and slammed him into the fancy and glassy prismachrome table, shattering it into pieces. "Starshit!" yelled Kachu as moved out of the way. Prismachrome shards, sharp and dangerous, were flung around the room, nearly piercing Laim and Mulbar, as Kachu finds the head of Chairman Oberjean tossed into his lap. The three rise from their chairs, with Laim narrowly holding his cup and Kachu tossing the head towards Parr's body. Mandarin stood in shock before rushing to his brother, kneeling in prismachrome shards and visibly bleeding, uncaring of the pain he felt. He performed the emergency procedures fit for a Sitrucian, only finding the body unmoving. Tangarin was dead. The massive man slowly rose, turning to King Cold, an inherent and bloody rage in his eyes. Cold simply smiled, uncaringly. "What, you're going to die like that worm, too?" Mandarin, normally gentle and soft-spoken, yelled a battle cry and charged. Cold prepared to meet him, nearly faltering as they collided. They wrestled for the best position, grappling into a clinch. They challenged each other for nigh a minute, with King Cold nearly being pushed to the ground, before the first headbutt was thrown. Laim wasn't sure who butted heads first, but King Cold laughed whenever Mandarin attempted to exchange one, using his natural gem-like skull plating to defend. The larger twin became dazed and unable to defend himself as King Cold lowered his horns to the Sitrucian's abdomen and shoved. It went through like a hot knife through butter, coming out the other side of the abandoned twin. Mandarin attempted to scream, but his collapsed lungs did nothing to make a noise. Mulbar did all the screaming for him, anyway, as Kachu reeled back to vomit. Laim watched, his hand firmly fixed on his pistol and his drink. King Cold reared back, pulling his horns from the man, before charging again. This one hit a vital organ, as the horrific-smelling red-black blood of Mandarin poured out. He reared back a second time and charged for a third, this one being the killing blow. Mandarin fell limp, impaled on the horns of the Frost Demon. With a long and ugly shlicking sound, King Cold pushed the corse off of his horns, piling it with its brother. He smiled, the red-black gore of Mandarin and Tangarin covering him and winding down his face into his teeth. Kachu, horrified but knowing, kneeled to the King, with Mulbar following shortly after. "Rise," Cold says, with nary a glance towards the standing Laim. The two remaining stand again, glancing around the room at the sight of the chaos. Mulbar, his eyes showing trauma, gulped and spoke. "As Acting Chairman, I propose we name King Cold as the supreme ruler of the Planet Trade Organization, thereby dissolving the board and the chair. All in favor?" Mulbar asked, as if it was a question. Mulbar and Kachu raised their hands, but Laim's remained around his cup of iced tea. "Laim?" Kachu asked, shocked. Mulbar shuffled further back, trying to get away from the oncoming carnage. The King sighed, "All you had to do was kneel, Laim." "You know that's not how it's going to end," Laim stated, staring King Cold deep into the eyes. This was the end of the road. This was the climax of his story. This was it. "Yes," said King Cold, with a sad smile, "You would have made a great lieutenant." "So, now it ends," declared the pirate, drawing his plasma pistol. He took one last swig of his iced tea, before tossing it onto the ruins of the table and the twin Sitrucians. "No," Cold said, "Now it begins." Laim raised his arm to shoot, but the Frost Demon had already closed the distance. The beastly Cold twisted it to the side as the gun fired, hitting a wall. He pushed it further until the arm cracked, eliciting an aching scream from the board member. As Laim was distracted, King Cold raised his massive foot and crushed it into the side of the alien's kneesack, unveiling a popping sound and causing the creature's leg to buckle under his stout weight. The gunman dropped the pistol, grabbing his broken arm with his other. It bent in an unforgiving angle, an utterly wrong angle. Mulbar held himself back from vomiting and Kachu watched with a pitying look. In a way, with his knee buckled, and only holding himself from proneness by his other leg, Laim did kneel. King Cold raised his hand and pressed his pointer finger into the forehead of Laim. It was over, both men knew. Kachu and Mulbar looked on, watching the suffering unfold. "A boon?" Laim begged before King Cold could fire his death beam, a smile upon his face, "A gift, from one old friend to another?" "Go ahead," Cold stated, his face unmoving. His eyes, though, normally cold and unpitying, were filled with sorrow. "A quick death?" "No," Cold shook his head, "You know that's not how we do this." "Yes, yes," Laim paused, taking in the moment, "Then a different one?" "Quick," Cold said, tapping his foot upon the metal floor. "Protect my son," Laim looked up, into the eyes of Cold. All that the King could see in Laim's eyes was true fear, but Laim saw pity in his counterpart's, just the slightest bit. "The youngest?" Cold said, recalling some thing that hadn't happened yet. He licked his teeth in consideration. Laim nodded in agreement. The pirate continued, "He is but a boy, but clever enough." "It will be done," Cold sighed, "I wish you could see the empire we will build, Laim," he grabbed the alien by the head, surrounding his skull with his massive reptilian fingers, lifting him into the air. Laim squealed, but Cold, as stoic as ever, continued, "But if you will choose not to see, I will take away the opportunity." He placed his thumbs, massive things, over the eyes of Laim, who squealed louder. And he pressed. Mulbar cringed at the massive twin popping noises, a sin upon mortal ears. Cold kept pressing until the ex-pirate stopped making noise. It took half-a-minute before what remained of Laim stopped moving. A few seconds after, the royal let go, letting Laim's body collapse onto the ground, a crushed and jumbled mess of parts. King Cold turned and left through the door he came in, witnessing the gore drip from his fingers. Kachu and Mulbar, taking only moments to take in the carnage, followed. As he walked through the hallway, Cold took a lick of his thumb, tasting the blood upon it. His face twisted and the King spat it out. Cold, with a knowing look, spoke. "Oh, old friend. Sour even in death. I'll miss you," he said. He wiped the gore off on his armor. So it began. Category:Fan Fiction